Last Request
by CretianStar
Summary: Awaiting execution would make a sane man a little crazy, so what would it do to a madman? DarkHatter.


A/N: This was meant to be smushy and then it got dark. Quite quickly. So I really do apologise but I hope you like it!

Yeah sorry. Dark Hatter.

* * *

His delusions had become stronger. They'd embodied _her._

Since seeing her he had only got worse. His employment (he spat at the thought) to the Red Queen had only made him a little more insane.

She was sat next to him on the bench in the cell. He was chained at the ankle but she was mercifully free. He knew she was free, and that the apparition before him was nothing more but when she turned to face him, that certainty vanished. She felt so real. He could smell the slight lavender tint to her skin, feel her blond curls as she leant into him. He turned to look at the imposter woman.

"You are not real." He stated quite plainly.

"You want this version of me." She whispered in his ear. "You've been dreaming about this version of me since she left; since you realised I grew up." The seduction in her voice made him shift in his seat.

"But you are nothing more than a delusion."

"I am also part of Alice. This is Underland Hatter, we both know how these things work." She purred and moved closer, forcing him towards the wall. He was stuck, he was frozen into place especially when that dainty hand rested on his arm. "What do you want Hatter?" Her breath tickled his ear, her hair his neck as she interrupted the cacophony of screaming voices in his head.

"You." He growled, eyes switching to a jade green and 'Alice' smiled.

"Thought so." She growled and moved so she straddled him. He pressed his lips to hers and she responded as fiercely. She moved further up into his lap and Hatter groaned. His calloused hands grabbed at that dainty little waist and he was almost thankful that she wasn't real – he could be as rough as he liked.

She whined when his lips moved from hers to that pale expanse of throat. He pulled aside the fabric of her dress and marked it with small purple bites, revelling in the moans that slipped from her mouth.

"Beautiful." He groaned when her fingers tangled in the orange hair. She tugged on the strands and he bit at her collar bone earning a squeak. "Oh Alice." She flicked her hips against his and he quickly rolled them onto the bench, her back pressed to the hard cement. She spread her legs for him willingly and the dress was torn from her breasts revealing the pale flesh to his ravenous eyes.

He almost missed the modest squeak that would've come from the real Alice but put the thought to the back of his mind; he would take this doppelganger, even if she was nothing more than a fantasy. He pressed his hips into hers, delighting in the moan that was pulled from her throat.

"Hatter." She gasped and locked her ankles around his waist. "More." She begged and he pushed his hips into hers again, setting a rhythm that had her gasping. Her pants only quickened as he hiked up the voluminous amount of material, cursing slightly before reaching her bare centre. He groaned at her uncovered sex and she thrust her body towards his. "Please." There was a petulant tone as he took his fingers away.

"Patience." He murmured but she quietened considerably when she heard the fasten of his trousers open.

He thrust into her with very little warning, but _this_ Alice didn't need any warning or preparation – 'she wasn't real remember Tarrant.' He told himself as his courtly side tried to slow him down but the insanity was in complete control. She was his last request, something his fevered mind had offered in the face of death and he would take her.

Her breath caught in her throat as he set a rough pace that made her scream his name but he barely heard her. He was finished far too soon and it was then that sanity came rushing back.

His fair headed vixen had vanished and he realised he was unclothed from the waist, his spent seed on the bench before him. Sweating and shaking Hatter closed his eyes briefly before righting himself. Moving from the bench , he sat on the floor cross legged, pulled his hat closer, refusing to look at the bench. He stared blankly ahead, adamant that his head was not that messed up.

He was interrupted from his horrified thoughts and aching body by a certain self-absorbed cat who wanted his hat. It was only as Cheshire vanished that Tarrant let his tortured mind drift to his supposedly last depraved act and shuddered.

He would never treat his Alice that way.


End file.
